Who He Never Knew
by Masquerade-Melody
Summary: The Phantom strikes in a deeper obsession now for young Meg Giry, after Christine has long abandoned the Opera House. Will she fall just as heavily into a dark obsession, and into his hypnotizing voice?
1. Prologue

A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters nor do I claim the beautiful romance story from either the book or the movie, The Phantom of the Opera.

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Who He Never Knew

Prologue

I lifted my eyes to the mirror, trembling as the sight of my beauty overwhelmed me. A white rose was perched delicately at the top of my right ear, and a veil of snowy netting covered the entirety of my face. Inky black ringlets toppled from the peak of my pale face, and cascaded gently against my exposed, freckled shoulders.

My hands quivered violently, as I let the tips of my fingers trace the dark chain that held the white-gold band that lay against my neck, and chilled my skin as harsh as Jack Frost's breath in the heart of winter. It was _his_ ring. I vaguely remembered it on Christine's tiny fingers.

The straps of the yellowed wedding gown I was wearing clung to the sides of my shoulders, a silky charcoal colored bow was tied proportionally around my waist, and the bottom of the gown was layered in strips of soft fabric to the tips of my knees, roughly ripped and uneven at its ends.

Suddenly, an extremely pale hand crept out of the darkness from behind me and caressed my skin, gently making its way down from my face to the ring that lie at the base of my neck, chill bumps running down my spine as it moved smoothly along my skin. The other hand had slowly coiled around my waist, and ruffled the bow that had graced the dress with beauty.

He pressed his face into my hair, his grip tightening and softening depending on whether I was violently trembling, or almost possessing the stiffness of a statue, as he whispered so carefully that the rasp of his voice was almost inaudible.

My heart was galloping restlessly against my ribcage, and an intense fear spiked within my chest.

I examined the mirror closely; peering at the shadowy figures laced throughout the room, and at the dark figure that stood in an eased stance behind me.

Though shadows clung to his face, and though the mirror was fogged with scratches and cracks, the solitary flame from the red wax candle that allowed me to gaze upon my features removed the blanket of darkness from his yellow, gleaming eyes.

"Meg, will you be my bride?"


	2. Melancholia: Part One

I awoke in a cold sweat, the memory of my dream waking my senses.

I gasped for air as my fingers froze at the presence of the icy ring and its chain clinging to my porcelain skin. An excitement capsized my heart in tsunami-like fashion, but fear was also latched onto the feeling of excitement, stirring a powerful emotion strong inside of me.

I jumped to my feet, my toes numb with cold, and my mind whirring with dizzying thoughts as I scurried out into the halls of the Opera House.

Tears of fear and yearning glazed my vision to the point where inanimate objects and darkness collided and swirled in an unforgiving marble pattern.

I continued to wonder without direction through the halls in hopes of finding him, stumbling as if in a drunken state, when the thought of how he stalked Christine crept aggressively into my thoughts, and made me warm with jealousy.

Still somewhat asleep, I sank to the hard floor, knowing my body was aching because of its longing to finish its rest in a warm bed, and my legs easily crumbled beneath me. I tucked my legs into my chest, trying to let my tears fall silently on my gown. Why is it that when I think he is here with me, he is in the darkest parts of the Opera House, far away from me? I know he hears everything, so why is it that when I weep he ignores me and continues to stalk in the hidden passages and halls?

I clenched my fists in anger, my nails digging into my skin and pricking pain in my bare shins, where the nightgown hadn't quite reached. I failed to quench his thirst of passion for his beloved Christine. Or at least, this is how it was portrayed to me, when I could barely hear his voice torn between singings and sobs as he spoke her name, through the walls of my dressing room.

They had pronounced him dead. But it was my theory that this "proclamation of death," only eased the fears of the newcomers and performers of the Opera. His spirit still soared in the empty hallways, and his presence still remained in Box Five when new Operas where performed. My mother, Madame Giry had told me late one night that she had caught a glimpse of his cape as he had slipped into the box, but kept it to herself in order to keep the new peace that had settled throughout the Opera.

Of course, I knew good and well that if he were really dead, the Opera House would lack the life and color that it holds now. It would simply be drained of the soul that the Phantom supplies with every breath he takes. Though the spirit has fallen into one of more melancholy, than of rage, it still courses like blood through veins in the pillars and walls of the Opera House. After all, he _owns_ the Opera House. It is rightfully his.

But if my theories were the whole truth, where had this ring come from, and why had he given it to me? Was he letting go of Christine in pursuit of me?

It was a twisted thought, but after hearing Christine's tale of his angelic voice, and his obsessive love for her, I somewhat envied her. She denied him love when he gave more compassion to her than he should've, and she fell for Raoul and ran away from him, considering him more of a "nightmare" than anything else. Even after the time he spent with her, coaching her to become a better performer, and loving her despite all the hatred he had received because of the distortion in his face, she still fled as fast as her legs would lead her.

Don't get me wrong, she considered him a poor and pitiful creature of darkness, and she gave him a small taste of what true compassion was like. But despite his pleas for her love, she believed that his soul was too distorted for her to take his hand, and became the bride of Raoul, or better known as Vicomte de Chagny.

In actuality, I more loathe her than envy her. Even though I truly looked up to her in awe and aspired to be like her, until she betrayed the pitiful man who opened the door to her success. I felt that she was selfish in her decision making, and I've wanted to mend the Phantom's wounds ever since I have been having these dreams of him making secret proposals of marriage to me in my room late in the evening, when everyone is sound asleep.

They are so vivid, that I often question whether they are dreams or reality. They have repeatedly been playing in my head, as if a broken record, but when I woke tonight, and found a ring that was once given to Christine by the Phantom on my neck, my heart was sent into an unbearable pace of hope and amazement. Reality struck me as clear as a bell, and the proof that he lives hangs around my neck. But the proof of his love is another question all in itself.

Does he love me?

Does he even know my name?

There must be a reason why he gave me _this_ ring. I know that because it is the exact ring that he placed on Christine's finger to claim possession of her, that it is of significance, and he must think of me more than a dancer at the Opera House, and the daughter of his fond friend, Madame Giry. Is he claiming me as his own? Is he saying that, through the ring, he knows who I am, and he wants me to love him unconditionally, unlike that ignorant, foolish girl, Christine?

Does this mean he is letting go of her?

I pushed all thoughts aside, feeling my eyelids heavily fall shut, and my head bobbing violently, until I was fast asleep, completely unaware of the sound of footsteps softly approaching.


	3. Melancholia: Part Two

I awoke again, this time to a figure shrouded in shadows, which spoke to me sternly.

"What were you doing in the halls so late in the night?"

His voice was raspy and violent as he spoke to me.

I wearily pushed my self up against the headboard, and curiously examined the silhouette, also realizing that I had somehow mysteriously returned to the warm shelter of my bed.

"Monsieur, I beg your pardon, but I don't see why I would tell a stranger the motives behind my whereabouts."

He responded by turning to face me, his amber eyes set ablaze. The moonlight poured from my window behind him, slightly playing in them. I could barely make out the features of his face. He seemed vaguely familiar.

He crept closer, as I built up the courage to speak again.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I?"

He chuckled slightly, the pale light that traced an outline of his body showed his shoulders shaking, as the laughter that fell from his lips haunted me. Fear quickly bubbled throughout my whole body, and it must've been apparent in the facial expression I now showed, because he stopped almost abruptly.

"My dear Meg, do not fear me. You know me very, very well."

I gasped for air at the sound of my name. It was _him_.

His tone lost all humor and sarcasm, and was suddenly to the brim with seriousness.

"Now tell me, Miss Giry, why were you out in _my _halls so late in the night?"

A heat of embarrassment boiled in my face, and I hung my head shamefully.

"I was searching for the Angel of Music that Christine spoke of. Are you the Angel of Music?"

"Yes," he answered dryly, nearing my bed. "Now why were you searching for me?"

I pulled the chain and ring from the inside of my nightgown, watching the moonlight almost illuminate it. I pinched the chain between my fingers, showing him the wedding band in its splendor. He glanced briefly to the side and back at me, with an intensity that made me tremble.

"I want to know why I have this."

"It is no use to me anymore."

"But, why did you give it to me?"

He finally took a seat beside me, his black cape fanning over the top of my legs. I shivered slightly, but composed myself, as I finally saw the white mask, and the dark amber eyes I had only dreamed about.

He took my hand gently, and looked long and hard at my face, a certain rage still flying through his eyes in a circular motion.

Silence fell heavily in the air, and the only thing that I could hear as I examined him thoroughly, was the shallow sound of my breathing.

"Because you are mine."

He paused, looking down again.

"But only in your nightmares."

I furrowed my brow, looking pleadingly at him.

Only in my nightmares? This was something that I had dreamed of for years. How could he automatically assume that I thought that he was some sort of daemon?

He let go or my hand in hopes of a quick getaway, but I clung desperately to his cape.

"Why? Why me? Why, out of all the beautiful girls on the Opera stage, did you choose me?"

He turned his back from me. But he continued to speak smoothly.

"After Christine was long gone, I still continued to lurk in the shadows of Box Five in the Opera. I have attended every show that has been put on in this Opera House, even after they pronounced me dead. And I should have the managers hanged for such a preposterous announcement."

I gasped at the thought of his violence, but I knew that often, if he didn't get his way, it resulted in some sort of death. And even sometimes, a death of one that had no affair in doing him wrong.

"And I, for the first time noticed you. Dear Madame Giry's daughter, grown and beautiful with such captivating grace on the stage. And your dancing-,"

He paused again, silence coiling around and constricting my airways.

"Is...inspiring."

I smiled slightly, sighing nervously.

"Did it lack the beauty that Christine's voice possessed?"

"No. It possessed such beauty and strength that it brought feelings and emotions that Christine's voice could have only hoped to bring."

"Have you really forgotten her, and let go of her that quickly, Phantom?"

He began to move slowly, his cape fluttering as if a graceful shadow behind him kept me from seeing the yellow flame of color in his eyes.

"No."

With that, he scurried out the door. I strained to hear his footsteps as he made his way through one of his secret passageways, but my ears pitifully failed to pick up the sound of his silent travel back down to his home below the Opera.

Though, as I pulled my covers up to my chin to calm the violent trembling from the wintry cold, I could hear him singing what sounded like a lullaby.

It was as crisp and clear as the sound of the wind when it entangled itself into the bare branches of the trees.

"You will soon belong to me."

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A/N: So, what do you think? Do you like it, not like it, what? Ten reviews please, or the story is stuck here. :)

~Masquerade.


	4. Melancholia: Part Three

I lifted my nose to the ceiling, light beginning to enchant its flaws and scarring from the fire. But surprisingly, it, and much of the Opera survived. I sighed, my eyes wandering along it aimlessly, tears trying to push their way out of my eyes.

Melancholy.

What a strange and horrible feeling it is, and it has swallowed me whole.

It has been a grand total of three months since The Phantom, or Erik has visited me. It feels as if it has been an eternity since his tenor voice has seeped into my walls and lulled me to sleep.

It's almost as if I have an addiction.

I often awake in cold-sweats in the middle of the night, and my heart beats with the fury of a hummingbird's wings. My dreams haunt me repetitively with a question of proposal from Erik, and it stirs the depths of my wildest imagination.

But the worst symptom of this strange feeling, is a swelling pain that throbs with every beat of my heart, at the strongest light of day. It is an aching to hear his voice, and to be smothered in his arms, something I have yet to do.

This promise, that I would "Soon be his", has kept me hoping with every breath I take in. But it has died away rapidly as time has swept by.

"Meg! Honey, can I come in?"

I quickly rose to my feet, gasping in surprise of my mother's sudden voice, and wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Yes, Mum," I replied meekly.

My mother quickly pushed the door open, revealing herself and a young girl, looking about my age, standing next to her.

"This, Meg is Madeleine. She will be keeping you company in the latter days of the production Hannibal."

I sneered at my disgust for the production.

"I cannot believe we are performing it again."

My mother's dark eyes flashed me a stern look, and coaxed Madeleine in with a gentle hand on her back.

"There is no need for such talk Meg. It is a very wonderful, and enchanting production."

"But it is nothing compared to Don Juan Triumphant."

Her eyes grew even darker, and I could see the memories of orange flames leaping into the black heart of France's night sky flash through them. I could also see it clearly myself. I was preparing myself to dance backstage, calmly and intently listening to the beautiful sound of Christine's pristine soprano voice and Erik's sweet tenor voice intertwined into an eerie melody. I was suddenly awakened from my reveries as awful shrieks from the audience fled to my ears. Before I even had a chance to see what was going on, Raoul quickly paced by me with my mother.

"Where has he taken her?"

"Come with me Monsieur, I will take you to him. But you must remember to keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"

"I'll come with you," I had cried pleadingly, but my mother's harsh gaze was set upon me.

"No Meg, No! You must stay here. Come with me Monsieur, do as I say."

My mind was racing, and I held the angry mob from following my mother to his dark lair, as long as I could. They finally got by me, and I rushed out of the sweltering heat and into the night air. My mother was already outside by the time I got there, and she held me strongly in her arms as I watched an orange glow radiate from the Opera house. Tears welled in my eyes, as I inquired of _his_ health.

"What happened to him, Mum?"

She shook her head, hair falling from her tightly packed blonde bun, from what was once perfection, and whipping across her sharp nose. I had always wondered where my dark hair had come from. I never knew my father, and my mother's stingy refusals to explain left me in the dark as to his description. I assumed it must've come from his side of the family.

"I don't know Meg. I truly don't know."

"What did Christine do to him?"

She sighed, her eyes drifting back to the Opera house.

"She stripped him of his pride, little one."

"No, Christine wouldn't harm a fly! S-She wouldn't," I stuttered. I paused to think for a moment, and continued to press for answers. "How Mum? How did she strip him of his pride?"

She looked down at me softly.

"You will soon find out, Meg. And I hope you won't be bitter of her decision. I refuse to partake in revealing what she did, but you are sure to hear it, because you live here."

She paused, taking my face gently with her soft hands.

"You will understand her reasons for this one day, honey. Love is very complicated."

At the time, I remember silencing, and letting my mind race to the many possibilities that could explain this confusing conversation that it had been at the time.

I understood it plainly now, because I had found out soon after our conversation that Christine had indeed stripped him of his pride by revealing what was under his mask, The Phantom and Angel, to the whole audience that night, and then left him because of her 'never-ending love' for Raoul.

Which I am sure must have been both humiliating and depressing for him. No wonder it had been rumored he was dead. He probably had no desire to emerge again under the public eye, which left many to assume, because his tricks and letters had stopped appearing, he had passed.

But my mother and I both knew better.

And I had no choice but to accept the feeling of bitterness towards Christine, and I have held onto that feeling ever since my mind was able to fathom his devotion for her, and the selfish, shallow decision she made in leaving him.

Mum eyed me wearily, and her mouth formed a tight line.

"Now Meg, you have enough sense to know that Don Juan was disastrous. No doubt the composition of the music was beautiful, but it ended in sheer chaos."

I reluctantly nodded, then poised myself in front of Madeleine.

She puffed her chest out proudly, her deep green eyes sparkling mischievously as she looked up at my mother.

"Madame Giry, you don't have to speak in code like that. You're talking about the Phantom, am I right?"

My mom nodded at her slightly.

"Yes Miss Madeleine, but that's not much of a conversation anymore. He has passed."

Madeleine cocked a dark brow challengingly.

"Do you really expect me to believe that? I know good and well that he's living. If he weren't living, the Opera would be thirsting for its survival, hmm?

She paused, nodding at the silence as if to prove her point as she dropped her bags by the only other bed that was in the room, one that I hoped would always be kept empty if Erik would ever want to slip in and take a rest.

She fell into the bed's neat, yellowed comforter. Her red hair fanned around her on the mattress, framing her heart shaped face delicately, and she closed her intense green eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. She had a freckled nose, and they were also dusted on her cheeks, her skin was a peachy tone, and very clear. She was beautiful, but it disgusted me.

She had instantly reminded me of Christine all too much, which caused us to already start on the wrong foot. She portrayed a gentle innocence in her face, and in her personality. But in a way, her smiles were stiffer, and she seemed to point her nose skyward while watching us, and when she spoke, as if saying she was better. At least Christine was humble at most times.

She finally lifted her head again, and smiled weakly.

"And do please call me Maddie, Madame. It is much plainer and suits me much better than Madeleine. Will you please?"

My mother nodded again with a plastic smile.

"Very well Maddie."

She looked back at me, her eyes darkening again.

"You take care of her Megan, and be sure to give her a tour of the Opera House. She is a new dancer, and will need to be acquainted with its confusing halls and routes."

I acknowledged her request with a nod, and she glanced once more with a stern gaze directed at me, as if warning me to keep my wandering feet from the secret corridors and passageways that Erik often used.

As soon as the door was shut, and her footsteps could no longer be heard, Madeleine flooded my ears with questions of curiosity.

"Will you show me Christine's room? And that mirror that the Phantom introduced himself to Christine in? Can we explore the secret passageways that lead to the Phantom's lair? Can we **go** to _his_ lair?"

Her eyes glistened with a wild desire, and mischievousness. She grabbed my arm roughly, and gave the same inquiring cocked brow that she had shown to my mother when asking of the Phantom.

"What's he like?" She glanced at the ring that clung desperately to my skin, and flashed a devilish grin. She reminded me of some of the giddy young dancers that raved of the rich, young patron, otherwise known as Raoul, when I was young. She giggled so low that it reminded me of a kitten's purr, and her cold hand traced the wedding band slowly.

"It's from him, isn't it Megan?"

I looked at her just as stern as my mother had just looked at me, and smacked her hand away.

She drew back, her thin lower lip slipping from under the top. A look of bewilderment disgraced her face.

"Who gave me this ring is not a matter that I must discuss with you. Do be reminded that the Phantom's affairs are also not something that is necessary to your stay, or your dancing. You behave as if you're five," I snapped.

"How did you learn of this anyways?"

Her brows knit in anger, and her face had boiled up to a shade of cherry red, her posture suddenly slouching.

"I heard it around, I guess you could say."

"Well, I don't want to hear that foolish talk out of your mouth again, do you understand?"

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a whisper came from the walls of what was now _our_ bedroom.

"Dear Madeleine, why must you ask so many questions?"

I could feel the color draining from my face, and chains of fear binding me, as I felt a hand tug from behind me and pull me into darkness behind the walls.

The light from my room suddenly disappeared, and Madeleine's frantic shrieks and pounding from the outside could be heard.

"Meg! MEG! WHAT IS GOING ON? DON'T PLAY TRICKS WITH ME! MEG! MADAME GIRY! MEG HAS DISAPPEARED!"

I could hear her cries of terror cutting through the walls.

"She is too prying, my dear. And too dramatic. Reminds me too much of Christine, and Carlotta. What a horrible mix."

I could her the clucking of his teeth, and i could feel his warm breath on my neck.

"HE IS ALIVE! HE IS ALIVE!THE PHANTOM IS ALIVE! MADAME GIRY! I KNEW IT! MADAME GIRY!"

I felt light-headed, and air was becoming a challenge to take in. I could feel something- cloth- wrapped around my mouth, and a hand was over my nose, to keep me from breathing. I felt panic swallow me whole, and the soft song he sang as he pressed harder against my face, was one that soothed me slightly.

"You will soon belong to me."

_Erik had finally come_.


	5. Captivated: Part One

Chapter Two

Captivated: Part One

I awoke to a pair of icy hands stroking my face and brow with such tenderness that chill-bumps covered the entirety of my body, and an involuntary tremble vibrated in my hands, and within my chest, making my breath fall into the air unevenly.

He was so close, that his breath warmed my cheek as soft and comforting as rain on a midsummer's day.

There was very little light in the place where we lay, and silence cloaked me chillingly. The only sound I could hear was my soft pant, and his even, graceful breathing.

Even his breath swelled in the air around me as a sound of beauty and of a sort of rhythm that resembled his melancholic scores that he wrote for the opera.

I was thoroughly astounded, delighted, fearful, and overwhelmed by the nearness of his presence. There was no word to describe what strength burst forth from the logic of my mind, the logic of my soul, and the logic of my heart to form a violent collision and current of confusion throughout me. Regardless, I was captivated and restricted by the works of his tender touch.

His amber eyes were illuminated with a deeper intensity of light than that of the candle that wore a teardrop shaped flame as a golden crown, and glowed with all of its might beside us. They gave way to an emotion that I couldn't quite read, but the mere fact that _he_ was staring at me, made my stomach tingle with a sensation that tickled me softly.

His thick black eyelashes clashed with his almost snow-white skin, and I could almost hear his conflicting thoughts as he cupped my face and began to slowly slide his thumbs softly under my eyes, as if wiping tears of fear and disgust away.

"Are you afraid of me?"

His whispered words made my trembling cease, and a sudden breeze of tranquility sailed around me. Though unfortunately, his words could not halt the insecurities that were tangled within the words that brimmed to the point of my lips, and built a dam to keep the river of comfort from rushing to his ears. I was a rabbit caught and cut by the briar patch of these insecurities.

"Answer me!"

He whispered hoarsely and desperately, shuddering with anger as he ragingly traced his hands down my back and to my waist, then pulling me into him recklessly, until I was drawn into his full embrace. Hot tears first glazed my eyes out of fear and desperate yearning to make him comprehend that my heart already belonged to him, and that the fear that he spoke of had long ago transitioned and blossomed into a white rose of pity and innocent love.

I buried my face in his chest, tears finally making their way down my cheeks, and burning my heart with a hot trail of emotions as they warmed the skin of his chest beneath his shirt, and radiated to the heart that beat steadily beneath his fragile ribs. I couldn't stop myself from sobbing amidst the tense emotions that throbbed inside of my soul, with the thoughts that greeted me with unforgiving distortion.

This poor man had never tasted the rush of delight that accompanied true affection.

His heart was swollen and bruised in bitterness, and I could only hope, as I shed an ocean of tears, that I could be the sufficiency of his needs.

I coiled my arms around him tightly, thinking that if I let him go, it would be the death of the both of us.

He returned the gesture, and we clung to each other in desperation, his porcelain mask resting against my face, and igniting once again the trembling in my hands and chest.

I could feel his grip tighten, as if by doing this he obtained more control over me and my _feelings. _I only wished that silence wouldn't tear my words away from me like a tornado tears the limbs off of the strongest tree, so that I could communicate to him that passion grew from the root to the tip of my heart. It infested and infected me. It raged like a rabid animal trying to break free from its cage, until freedom could appease its wild desire.

_He _was my freedom.

"You are frightened by me! My dear Meg-,"

He paused, breathing roughly into my hair, the warmth of his breath making my heart gallop relentlessly in my ears, almost as if there was this drum inside of me, being struck harder and faster, until I started to feel lightheaded. A thousand butterflies pricked my skin with the flapping of their wings inside of me, as I anticipated his next lyrical whisper, my mouth trembling as silence was frozen in the air.

I was finally here, in his arms, and our hearts were of one accord. We were two broken souls; deep hues of gray intermingled to become a vibrant shade of harmony. But his insecurities were sewn within his soul, and would be much harder to remove than any splinter of fallen self-esteem.

I ran my fingers through his tangled hair, tightly pressing my face against his, the mask hiding his deformities chilling me entirely, as if someone had left me bare in the middle of a snowstorm.

Silence encompassed us. It passed as a mysterious breeze over our hesitant souls, and made the solitary flame shift the shadows on the walls.

He jerked away from me with the thought that he would not get a response now, his hands gripping my arms so hard, that pain began to nip at my skin, and I could make out eerie shadows of darkness cutting into his face in hard, angular shapes, and heavy, purple half-circles hung beneath his yellow eyes. His mouth formed a tight line, and thin, string-like veins uncovered themselves in his right temple, away from the porcelain mask that curved perfectly along his face.

I sighed heavily, watching his face closely. He was shrouded in a cloud of grey shadows, but the solitary flame from the _red wax candle_ danced gracefully in his eyes. And though his hair was slicked back, two small, black strands had slipped away, toppled over against his thin, dark eyebrows, and I could see that he was clenching his jaw in both desperation and anger.

The candle brought such vivid memories of the dream, that I struggled to pull one arm away from his grasp and clasped my hand onto the ring, taking in a deep breath. I cast my eyes downward, searching the sheets that we had both just been lay in, for something that could help me build a ladder of words that would help me reach and gain his trust, assuring him that _I am his_. The way he laid his eyes on me seemed to question me intensely with anger and pleas for an answer, splaying uncomfortable rays of yellow light on me. They also seemed to snicker at me, and scold me as if I were a child.

"You are afraid of me," he growled, his sultry voice now ominous and bounding throughout the room.

He stood slowly, and soon towered above me, peering down at me in disgust. I did not move an inch, and remained as still as I could, in the same position I had been when he had held me, my head resting against the sea of sheets. He pulled back his fist, and I held my breath, closing my eyes and patiently anticipating the blow that was to come.

I opened my eyes just in time to see his fist collide with the bed, just inches from my face. Tears again began build up in my eyes, glazing my vision until his face was distorted and blurred, but this time was they were strictly fear of what I had gotten myself into, and of what he was truly capable of. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering, and felt the tears cool my burning face.

I could hear him panting above me, as if a bull about to charge for its victim, and I could make out through my tears, that his stance was threatening. His lips were slightly parted, and they shook as if he were about to wail because of some great infliction of pain. I tried to compose myself, as I reached for his hand, and interlaced my fingers into his, trying to muster up enough courage to spit out what has stirred within my heart for years.

He moaned slightly, and he held strongly onto my hand. I knew that he didn't know where to place this affection. He had never known it.

"I am not afraid of you," I whispered softly, kissing his hand.

He began breathing heavily, and slowly climbed beside me again, his cape fluttering slightly behind him. He furrowed his brow, deep lines forming on the exposed part of his forehead, and he wailed softly as he embraced me again, and gently kissed me. It made my soul soar in the height of the moment, burning in the spirit of freedom, and slowly drift back down as the kiss ended. As he leaned up to look at me, I could now see that a deep passion was interlaced in his eye, and his long, slick, black hair against his pale face making him look attractive in a mysterious away, under the slight flicker of that red candle.

I must admit that I was extremely content, and I could not be more at ease, when it came to being with him. I had longed for this for such a long time, but something irked me deeply, and kept surfacing to my thoughts.

"Now tell me something my Erik-," I paused, feeling a slight frown tug on my face.

"Why did you suffocate me, to bring me here?"

His eyes widened, and his grip on me tightened, as if he were surprised by my asking, and reluctant to answer.

"Christine I-,"

I furrowed my brow, then felt the stab of his mistake take its toll, pain jabbing into every inch of me, as that cursed girl's name rang in my ears, and it circulated in my thoughts in repetition.

I wanted desperately to let this mere mistake go, but it clung to me as a child does to its mother.

He had called me by the wrong name.

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**A/N: My dear readers, I apologize for it taking me such a long to update. You deserved for me to update sooner, but let it be known that I did not have any inspiration strike me until a couple of days ago. So please forgive me for any inconvenience this might have brought you. I appreciate you spending your time reading and reviewing. ~MM**


	6. Captivated: Part Two

Chapter Two: Captivated

Part Two

"Meg do you believe in angles?"

I began to brush my dark, thick hair with one of the brushes that had been lying on _her _wardrobe, as I looked at _her_ suspiciously through the mirror.

Christine was poised in a pondering position, her thin face cupped in her tiny fingers, chocolate curls falling over her face in thick spirals. Her large, doe-brown eyes glistened with a wild curiosity as she gazed back at me.

"A dangerous curiosity," I had noted, setting the brush back down in its place with a soft thud, and turned to meet her face.

"Well-,"

I sighed, leaning back onto the mahogany wardrobe, crossing my arms across my chest.

"That depends, Christine."

Her forehead puckered, as she slightly tilted her head to the side. She had obviously detected a note of skepticism in my voice, and this had caught her off guard.

I neared her bed, watching a shadow of confusion cross her face, beneath the fragments of silver moonlight.

"I believe-," she said timidly "I have an angel watching over me. My dear Meg, how I wish you could hear his voice."

She gazed off into the distant darkness, her oversized colored nightgown hanging lopsided from one of her small shoulders. Her deep red lips were pursed, as her eyes traced the shifting shadows.

"You do believe me, don't you, my dear Meg?"

I looked down, sighing once more.

"I don't know if I do, Christine."

When I opened my eyes, and the flashback had passed, it was as if our emotions had traded. I was taking in breaths in jagged patterns, and my blood boiled as I looked at him. He did not look at me apologetically or with concern, but simply with curiosity. His eyebrows rose challengingly, as if daring me to say something.

*************************

"How could you!"

"How could I what?"

"How could you mistake me for some girl who ripped your soul to shreds? Do you just enjoy being in pain?!"

His eyes shifted to the side quickly, and he turned his head away from me, his mouth slightly open, as if he were racking his mind for something appropriate to say.

"I'm sorry-," he said softly "She was...my first. It was an honest mistake."

I sighed, crawling out of the bed, and shuffling onto the rough, wooden floor. I ripped the sleeve material from my dress, for lack of a better ribbon, and tied my hair back from my face, all the while seeing that from the corner of my eyes, he was watching me like a hawk from his hunched position.

"What are you doing," he growled, his eyebrows smashed against his eyes.

He pushed the straying hairs away from his face in frustration, and inched closer to the edge of the bed, in a small fluid movement. I wondered momentarily if this grace had been obtained from the practice of stalking silently in the shadows of the corridors without a sound, when watching Christine.

I merely looked at him, anger still pumping heat throughout my entire body, smirking at him as I passed through the door of the bedroom, and continued through a small, dark hallway.

"Excuse me Miss Giry, but you have no business wandering through my home!"

I kept walking forward, running my hand along the smooth wall to keep a sense of where I was going, shrugging away his remark. What he said rolled off of me as water does to a duck when it is bathing. It was harmless and meaningless.

"Had you not wanted me in your home, you should not have knocked me out and stole me away to your lair," I thought with a snort.

I barely made out a corner coming up to the right, by the slithers of light that traced an outline on the wall.

"Megan Giry! Do not take a step further!"

I could hear him storming behind me, pounding his feet against the floor in a gallop, and I dared to quicken my pace. I kept my fingers along the narrow hallway, turning quickly where I had seen the traces of light, and stumbled out into a large, open area.

An organ sitting in its glory was centered within the room, its bronzed pipes standing tall, and sloping on both sides, with two center pipes that formed the tip of the slope, glinting under the light of at least fifty candles that alternated in hues of red and black.

I scanned them, feeling a small smile crawl up my face as I picked out the many scarlet candles.

"Well, that's certainly not a fire hazard," I whispered softly to myself, chuckling, and feeling the heat of my anger dip once again to cool, and light contentment.

Before I could take another step forward, I felt his cold hand clamp onto my wrist with an aggressive force.

"You wouldn't even give me a chance to apologize," he hissed.

I looked up at him inquiringly, seeing the better detailing of his face, and the lines of age that now uncovered themselves as he spoke, and the silver that peaked from the roots of his hair.

I shook my head slightly, squinting at his eyes, because it seemed as though the bright shade of yellow had faded to a deep honey color under the more lighted atmosphere we were now in.

"What could you possibly have to hide?"

He looked away, pressing his lips together to form a thin, straight line, and he sighed, folding his hands behind his cape.

"I do not want you prying through my things."

I sighed, looking at him quizzically.

"Again, what could you possibly be hiding that I couldn't see?"

"Nothing. I am hiding you from nothing. I just don't want you to stick your nose in places it shouldn't be."

"You talk to me as if I am your prisoner."

"You will be if you do not do what I ask of you."

"Well then, is this not my home? Is this not where I am now to live?"

He stared at me solemnly, his dark hair contrasting against his porcelain skin making my knees unbearably weak and my heart skip several beats, as he angled his face downwards so that he could look directly at me with ease.

"This is your home, Meg. There are just some things that I would like to shield you from. Keep in mind I would never want you to feel any sort of discomfort here."

"You are saying that you do not trust me-," I paused, my gaze shifting to the organ, and my thoughts fled to Christine and the time she spent here.

"Is it because of her?"

He sighed again, taking my hand.

"My precious danseur-," he held my own hand against my stomach, circling behind me, and wrapping his other arm around my waist.

That name – that name he called me, made me feel as if dynamites were exploding rapidly within me, burning every inch of me with passion.

"It is no longer about her. It is about you," he whispered, his lips against my ears, entangling me into his web or romanticism- he was the spider waiting for the kill; to submerse me in his abyss of obsessive love.

"Always know that, young danseur; I want to protect you from the distortion of my past."

I took my free hand, and reached for his smooth, porcelain mask, stroking it tenderly, tracing the edges where it met his face, with my fingertips. I could feel his muscles tensing, as if he was fighting off the strong urge to smack my hand away. I could feel that he thought that I was going to shame him as Christine did.

"Do you trust me," I whispered, lifting my mouth against his chin.

"But of course."

"Then why must you control my moves? I am a dancer; I must go where my feet lead me. But that does not mean I do not know my boundaries."

"Oh Meg," he sighed into my hair, with his nose pressed into my head gently.

I could feel the hair on the back of my neck raise, and I closed my eyes momentarily, feeling a wave of weariness crash over me.

"Now tell me, why did you suffocate me, to take me exactly where my heart desired to be?"

I felt my eyes flash open as he still held onto my hand, running his thumb along it, and leading me into the room that held such magnified splendor, that I gasped in awe as soon as I saw it in whole.

He kissed my hand, and then bowed, while using his other arm to introduce the scenery with a slow, circular motion. Fascination glistened and morphed with the spark of curiosity and swirled within me as my eyes traced the room cautiously, to try not to miss a single detail.

He pulled my face so close to his, so that I would only be focused on him, his eyes filled with honey color glazed with smug satisfaction, as he wiped the straying, loose curls from my face.

"Don't be upset with me, my beautiful danseur, bit I had to be sure you wouldn't run just as Christine did. I couldn't let that happen again," his lips brushed against mine as he said this, but it stung harshly, as he pierced me in the center of my heart with the sharpest object mankind could hold – distrust.

"So I am your prisoner?"

He was hesitant, and he took a few steps back, still calmly gripping my hand.

"Not if you _want _to be here."

I looked to the side of me, seeing a large, glassy, lake swirling with blue and back, with a small paddle boat perched on its edge, with oars leaning against its sides.

"I do want to be here," I said with a slight nod.

"Then, since you are my danseur, will you dance with me?"

"But- we don't have any music."

"Quite the contrary my dear," he said theatrically, pacing to a table cluttered with sculptures, crumpled sheet music, paints, and a variety of masks that I had never seen before. While he was scavenging through the pile, I glanced down, and saw damp sheet music scattered over the floor with smudged ink, and I saw shadows scatter in the corner of my eye, as he caused the flames of the candles to wriggle under the slight breeze he had created.

He picked up an old music box, and wound it up with a few fluid movements. IT began pinging softly to a tune I vaguely remembered, with perched at its top, clapping the cymbals in its fragile paws every so often.

He neared me again, and without any words, we took each other's hands, and waltzed with such ease, that I almost cried out of the joy that swept over me.

He was so gentle, and I could see that in his eyes there crossed a shadow of gratitude, and the first sign of a smile creeping up the half of his face that I could see, that I had ever seen since our first encounter.

"Thank you," he muttered softly, holding me close to him, and swaying to the music that much resembled a melancholic lullaby.

Neither he nor I knew in that moment what was to come, or who was crawling in the secret passageways to find us, their hearts driven by fury.


	7. Intruders: Part One

**Chapter Three: Intruders**

**Part One**

We had not been dancing long, when Erik tore away from me with such rapidity that it frightened me, and I stumbled backwards, almost tripping over my own feet.

"What is it," I questioned gently, feeling a bolt of insecurity strike my desperate heart. As I reached out to grab his arm he pulled away from my touch. Was he already wanting me gone? Had I done something wrong?

"It's your mother," he stated roughly. "She's here."

"How can you tell?" As I asked the question I felt fear kicking my lungs with such severity that I felt as if I couldn't breathe. She couldn't take me away from him now! Our romance was just beginning to bloom.

He remained silent, and I could feel my face begin to glow with pink as heat started to rise within my entire body. I had known that this was going to happen, but I had been hoping with every breath in my body that she would not come to retrieve me.

I observed him closely as he glared at the lake with a crazed harshness. A degree of anger that I had never before witnessed in his nature was swirling like a whirlpool in his honey colored eyes and his stance was threatening, but grace was still found within the lines of his body as he waited in eerie silence on the shore.

"I'm sorry-," I whispered hoarsely, fumbling to find words that wouldn't upset him further. "But you and I both knew that this was to come. She is my mother, and I do not blame her for coming to retrieve me."

"It's not that! Are you daft, Meg?"

He practically spat his insult at me as flames of fury flared from every fiber of his being. I bit my lip hard, to both stop the tears from falling and numb the pain from his words. A small bit of blood began to pool in my mouth from the pressure of my bite, and the coppery taste made me want to throw-up.

"Meg-," he sighed, speaking with more composure this time, "It's not your mother that I am upset about."

He paused, scanning my contorted facial expression, and furrowed his brow, cocking his head at me quizzically.

"There are people accompanying your mother on her journey to this lair."

"Who?"

"That I do not know."

"How can you hear them coming? I could not hear a thing! And how do you know that it is not just my mother coming to take me back home?"

He once again ignored my questioning of his knowledge, and continued to glare at me solemnly.

I began to get uncomfortable, and looked away as quickly as I could. Much to my dismay, though I looked away from him, I could still feel his eyes boring a hole through me. I shuffled my feet, and shifted my weight to try to keep my attention away from his blatant stare, gluing my eyes to the ground as I waited for him to say something.

Why was he looking at me like that?

Better yet, had I done something to upset him?

"Why are you making such a horrible face at me?"

The blood was still trickling in my mouth, and I gulped down the repulsive taste, wrinkling my nose at him.

Was that really the reason he had been staring at me?

"It's nothing. I-I just have a bad taste in my mouth.

He nodded, and returned to his previous engagement of glaring at the lake. I sighed heavily, studying him carefully as if it were the last time I would see him. Truthfully, it probably was.

The glow from the multiple red and black candles cast an orange light onto his pale skin, playing with the aging lines of his face that weren't hidden, and his honey eyes were illuminated to a pale yellow. The white mask that graced only half of his face glowed as if it were the moon itself. His small, soft pink lips were parted as he studied what was before him with severeness. The black hair atop of his head was slightly displaced from its usual slicked back neatness, and several thick strands of hair hugged the side of his face, hooking around his defined, square jaw. I assumed the thought of my mother and those that accompanied her coming to his lair made him deeply enraged, for he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, and his jaw stayed tightened, as a blue vein began to unveil itself on his neck.

I shifted my gaze back towards the mass of red and black candles, trying to catch my breath. Even when anger played a part in his expression and body language, there still remained a splendor about him that left me breathless.

As the small flames flickered and danced, I was again reminded of the vivid dream in which he had asked to marry me. Oh how I wish my dream was only true! If I was engaged to this pitiful man, my mother might be a little more lenient as to letting me stay with him. A strong shiver tingled down my spine as the thought of being married to him crossed my mind. If only he would.

But I know that he will not.

I felt tears quickly spring up in my eyes, and though I tried to blink them back, in a few short moments I succumbed, and let them fall. No matter how much I tried to fathom the situation of this dysfunctional relationship, I could never fully understand why my heart was so wrapped around him, why I was driven to be with him, nor why I was so drawn to him.

After mulling over the situation, my mind unwillingly settled on the fact that we would probably never truly be together no matter how much my heart ached to be and stay with him. My gaze was still focused on the candles, and their brilliant image soon became distorted and blurred. My ribs shook with violence as the hot tears trailed down my face, and my thoughts preyed upon the fact that we would soon be forever parted.

Erik, hearing my small gasps for air quickly made his way over to me with such stealth that I did not hear him coming, and I jumped slightly when I felt the warmth and presence of his body behind me. In that instance, I felt a sense of protection cloak me and warm me, as does a raincoat when a storm rages on.

He had done it.

He had successfully swallowed me into the abyss of romanticism of the night. And his sweet melody of love has intoxicated me entirely.

I am wholly his.

He rested one hand softly on my shoulder, and used the other to turn me towards him, his stare tenderly focused upon my face, almost portraying pity. The look he gave me made my heart stutter, and made my stomach churn relentlessly.

"Meg-," he sighed, "Do not do this to me."

He raised a cold hand to my cheek, and brushed a tear away with a sweep of his thumb. I put my hand on top of his, willing him to keep it on my face, and closed my eyes. I stood there silently, trying to memorize this emotion that was stirring within the likes of me and the feeling of his touch- his rough, but gentle touch- on my skin.

"Listen to me, my _danseur_, you are mine! Not even your mother can take you from me."

I could feel my lower lip quivering as I looked up at him, and without thinking, I flung my arms around him, smothering my face into his chest. I felt, that in this moment, his arms were the mighty ocean, and I was the small boat that glided along its surface. Though the depths of him are sometimes unknown, I feel pleasure being with him, and I feel a strange sense of peace with him that I have never felt with anyone else. The tears were still flowing freely down my face, and I still struggled to breathe. Somehow, deep inside of me, I knew that there was fault in his words.

As he took me into his embrace, I remained silent, and tried to listen to his shallow breathing. But, though I tried to remain in the moment, an awful clattering disrupted the silence, and I could feel his arm muscles tense.

He sighed heavily.

"Come, we must go. Our visitors have arrived."

* * *

A/N: My dear readers, I apologize for taking five months to complete this chapter. It seems that my inspiration died cold for quite some time. I am glad that the flame has returned, and I hope you forgive me for taking so long. I hope you enjoy.

Yours Truly,

~MM


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